Lately I’ve been thinking about how we learn to take care of ourselves. The word “resilience” is being reexamined for its message. Is it a compliment to be told how strong you are or is it something else? My own experience with endurance could probably be distilled to how I gave birth. My son stood up in the final days after being head down for nine months. The decision was made to turn the baby in the womb so, hopefully, a caesarian could be avoided.
Read MoreI think the library saved my life. I sat on the floor looking at books about nudist colonies filled with black-and-white pictures of naked people in sneakers, playing volleyball, practicing archery, grilling hamburgers, and generally being naked, which I found bizarre but also helpful since there were no boys in our family and my father was not a naked person ever. Also, I read all of Jane Austen, Dickens, the Brontes, Louisa May Alcott, piles and piles of books.
Read MoreAn excerpt from The Bolter: A Memoir. My family believed in Dickens, root vegetables, ignoring difficult truths and Louis Kahn. They believed in making fun of the fat, the unintelligent, the poorly read, the conservative, and God. We believed in Ireland and scorned the Brits but loved England and adored the Beatles and hated the Monkees. I had no idea what was morally correct as a child, except you, should suffer for everyone and not show off. You should tell a good story, and when your parents drank, go to bed, and hold your breath and hope morning comes fast.
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